


Never A Lie

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BMol - Freeform, British Men of Letters, F/M, Murder, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 17:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11491059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: Written for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing’s Hiatus Challenge, Week Six. The prompt is “If you really loved me there wouldn’t be a choice.” Fulfilling a request that someone made for a former BMOL reader, who fled to America when she failed to carry out orders and met the Winchesters. She’s in a relationship with Sam, when Mick comes to the bunker and recognises her.





	Never A Lie

 

Filing away the last report, you shut the drawer with a sigh. It was a habit you’d never really gotten out of in the two years since you’d gotten off of the plane in America. Initially you’d lived on the road, flitting from motel to motel, case to case, until you’d bumped into the Winchesters. Finding out they were legacies was a shock, but you’d decided to keep your own affiliation with the Men Of Letters a secret, knowing exactly what the British branch were like.

They’d kill you if they found you.

So you’d changed your last name to Winters, and hidden out with Sam and Dean at the bunker. They’d been off on cases a lot recently, leaving you to hunt alone. When Sam had gone missing, and you’d returned back, you’d known that your former employers had finally made the stretch over to the States and every day, you worried the brothers would find out who you were, but it seemed they were not fans of the British Men Of Letters, and you’d allowed your worry to lessen.

For the last couple of days, Sam and Dean had been away, on a case involving werewolves. Neither of them had text in around twenty-four hours, which had you a little worried, but you were content to wait, knowing if there was a problem, someone would contact you.

When the bunker door thudded open, you emerged from the file room, shutting the door behind you, hearing Sam’s voice call through the building. A smile came to your face, and you jogged down the corridor, happy to see him again. Things between you and Sam had been filled with unresolved tension at first, but after a little coaxing from Dean, you’d eventually confessed your feelings to the younger Winchester, and for the last twelve months, you’d found comfort and companionship in his arms. 

Walking into the library, your smile grew as you saw Sam, placing his bag on the table. He looked up, returning your happy expression, opening his arms to you, and you stepped into them gratefully, glad to see him in one piece. “I missed you,” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

“Missed you too,” you replied, inhaling his scent. “What happened?”

“Difficult werewolf case,” he admitted, looking a little shaken up. “Claire got bit.”

Your eyes widened. You knew there was a possible cure, but the Winchesters didn’t. “Is she -” The question was too difficult to air, but Sam shook his head.

“She’s fine. We found a cure.”

“You did?” You frowned, turning as the bunker door opened again. Dean walked in, arguing with someone as he descended the steps. “You brought her back here?”

Sam’s mouth set into a thin line. “No… it’s…”

“Hey, Y/N!” Dean greeted, moving out of the way to reveal their guest. Your heart thudded and dropped into your stomach, the man in front of you all too familiar, and terror tore its way through your mind.

“Y/N.” Mick blinked in shock, and both Winchester brothers frowned.

“Mick…” you whispered, stepping backwards.

Sam raised a hand, confused by the situation. “Wait, you… you two know each other?”

Your mind scrambled for a lie, but before you could open your mouth, Mick gave an amused laugh, approaching you and pulling you into a hug. “Know each other?” he exclaimed, holding you at arm's length. “We were colleagues. Ketch told me you died on assignment two years ago!”

“What?” Dean’s speech was through gritted teeth and you felt the color drain from your face as you realised your identity had been revealed.

“Y/N?” Sam asked, looking at you with concern, needing an answer. The truth was already out there, and Mick looked at you with the same confused expression.

“I… I…”

“You didn’t tell them?” Mick asked, his voice low. “Y/N… what happened?”

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, unsure who the apology was to. “I didn’t mean to lie, I just… I didn’t know how much you knew, and then… I didn’t know how to tell you, and… if they found me…”

“If who found you?” Dean barked.

You wiped at the tears forming in your eyes. “The British Men Of Letters. I was an agent. For a long time,” you sniffed, unable to look any of them in the eyes. “They sent me on assignment to deal with a rugaru. And I let… I let the child go. I knew it was a mistake, I knew, but I couldn’t - I couldn’t kill a child!”

Mick stared at you, as Dean scoffed in disgust. “All this time, we’ve been living with one of theirs?”

Sam didn’t speak, and you turned tearful eyes towards him. “I’m  _ not _ one of theirs. They tried to kill me when I didn’t follow orders, so I ran. I changed my last name, I hid over here. I didn’t think they’d come here, with all the American hunters, and when they turned up…”

“They tried to kill you?” Mick asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why did they tell me you were dead?”

“I let Ketch think he’d got me. Then I ran.” You shook your head. “I’m sorry,” you said, aiming the apology at Sam. “I never wanted to lie to you, Sam, but I was scared. I didn’t have a choice. And then we were…  I fell in love with you and -”

“ **If you really loved me, there wouldn’t be a choice** ,” Sam muttered, unable to meet your gaze. He stepped away, shaking his head. “You should have told me the truth. You should have trusted me.”

You reached out to him, but he moved further away, waving you off. “Sam -”

“No. I need… I need time to think.” He turned from all three of you, walking away towards the bedrooms. Every fibre in your being wanted to go after him, but you remained still, feeling Dean’s seething gaze on you. He made a noise of disgust, before shaking his head and leaving, heading towards the garage. Only Mick remained, watching you carefully.

Tears were spilling down your cheeks now, and you raised your swollen eyes to him. “I suppose you’re going to report this in?” you said, fear curling in your belly. He didn’t speak for a few moments, before sucking in a breath.

“No,” he replied. “But I want to know exactly what happened.”

*****

Hours later, and Sam hadn’t emerged from your shared room, and you were ready to sleep. Knocking on the open door gently, you saw him sat at the desk, on his laptop. There was a picture of the both of you on the desktop, smiling at the camera in a rare moment of peace.

“Sam?”

“Was this a lie?” he asked, not looking at you, and you hiccupped a sob back.

“No. It was never a lie. I love you.”

He sighed, tapping once on the keyboard and the photo disappeared. “I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.”

Your heart thumped wildly and you stepped further into the room. “You can, Sam. I don’t work for them. I was running, because they tried to kill me. I’ve done nothing but help you.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, still refusing to look at you. Taking a chance, you moved closer, wanting nothing more than to touch him, to dispel his fear.

“You lied to me about who you were. I thought you were a hunter. I thought… I thought you were a good person.”

“I am!” you cried. “Sam, I  _ left _ because they asked me to kill a child, and I couldn’t. I never killed anything or anyone that wasn’t a threat. I never killed without -”

“How do you know?” he asked, finally raising his head to look at you. “You know what that bitch did to me, Y/N. You know how she tortured me, the things she made me see…” He trailed, pain in his eyes. “I was so broken about it. I thought I’d betrayed you.”

You shook your head, daring to touch his shoulder, and he jerked away, standing from the chair, shattering every piece of hope in your heart. “Sam -”

“No. I… I can’t. Knowing you’re… you were one of them…” He stomped towards the door, and you watched him go, knowing that things were over between you. “I need time. I need… to not be around you right now.”

“Sam -” you pleaded, feeling fresh tears in your eyes.

“I need time,” he repeated and disappeared into the corridor. You watched him go, before your legs gave out beneath you and you crumpled to the floor, unable to control the sobs that broke free from you. Everything you’d feared was happening. Everything would be over. Even if the Men Of Letters didn’t discover you were alive, the Winchesters wouldn’t trust you, wouldn’t want you here anymore.

You lost track of time as you cried on the floor. The coldness of the surface crept into your bones, and your body became stiff and you curled into a ball, relishing the pain, wishing with everything in you that the ground would open up and swallow you whole, anything to prevent you feeling so lost.

Eventually, you fell into slumber. It was uncomfortable, but you remained tightly wound in on yourself, and your mind drifted into dreams.

_ “Sam?” You looked up into his eyes, seeing his smile as he bent down towards you. “What are you -” _

_ “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long,” he whispered, capturing your lips with his. He tasted like honey and melon, probably from his healthy lunch, and you moaned against him as his tongue swiped against yours greedily. When he pulled away, you were flushed, gasping for breath. “Worth the wait.” _

_ You couldn’t help but smile. “A long time?” _

_ “A long time,” Sam reaffirmed, pushing hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. “There’s a lot of things I’ve waited a long time to do with you.” _

_ “Like what?” you whispered, huskily. “Show me?” _

Strong arms were lifting you from the floor, and you jolted awake, instantly on alert. Your eyes opened, landing on Sam, who was carrying you towards the bed. His mouth was a grim line, and he didn’t look at you.

“You were gonna catch a cold laying there like that,” he muttered, lowering you onto the bed. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

You wanted to apologize again, to beg him to stay, but instead, you remained quiet, watching as he switched off the light and left you alone again.

*****

Morning came and you went about your routine in a daze, showering and dressing, before heading into the kitchen. There was an empty whiskey bottle on the table, and Dean’s boots were left in the middle of the floor. Mick was in there, making coffee, and he looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Mornin’,” he greeted, and you grunted at him, before rifling through the cupboards for the tea bags. “There’s no need to be rude.”

“I’m not being rude,” you spat. “Forgive me if you just turned up and ruined my life.”

He held his hands up. “I didn’t know you were here. Sam talked about his girlfriend, but he never told me your name, and I never asked. How was I supposed to know that you’d holed up with the American hunters. It’s not my fault you lied to them.”

“I didn’t lie,” you replied, slamming the container of tea bags down onto the side and grabbing the kettle. “I didn’t tell them who I used to be, because I’m  _ not _ that person anymore.”

Mick shrugged. “It doesn’t look that way to me. You’d exactly as I remember you.”

“Oh shut up, Mick.” You pushed past him to fill the kettle up and he chuckled. Once upon a time, you would have considered Mick Davies somewhat of a friend - hell, you’d graduated in the same class from Kendricks. But there were professional boundaries you didn’t cross in the Men Of Letters. “Why are you here anyway?”

“I was helping with that werewolf girl,” he said, sipping at his coffee. “Sam and Dean offered to show me how the other half live, so to speak. And I’ve been… having doubts about our employer.”

You levelled him with a glare. “They’re not my employer.” He simply looked at you, and before you could retort with an insult, Dean walked in, rubbing his eyes. “Dean,” you whispered, unsure of what his reaction to you would be.

He held up a hand, shaking his head. “Not so loud.” Okay, so he was hungover. How much had he drunk last night?

“I don’t think these American lads can handle their drink,” Mick joked. “Sam was throwing up in the library at the crack of dawn.” Worry crossed your face, and Mick noticed. “Don’t fret - I put him to bed.”

The instinct was there, to go and make sure Sam was okay, but you still weren’t sure where you stood with him now.

“Are you still here?” Dean asked, and your entire body froze. Was he talking to you? “Don’t you have reports to write or something?” He was looking at Mick, and you exhaled the breath you’d been holding without realising. Mick laughed.

“No. No reports. Unless it’s on the finer points of how you Yanks can’t drink.”

Dean flipped him off, and you quickly poured him a cup of coffee, taking it to the table as he sat down heavily, dropping his head into his hands. He looked up at you as you placed it there, offering him a small smile, but he simply glared and took the drink without saying sorry.

Still some hostility then.

You picked up your tea, intending on retreating back to your room. Maybe you could find a case; that normally motivated a little teamwork. Without speaking, you left the kitchen, just as Sam walked in. He stopped short of colliding with you, an unfathomable expression on his face.

“Sam…” you whispered. “Are you -”

“Excuse me,” he interrupted, briskly moving past you into the kitchen, and you felt fresh tears sting your eyes. It took everything you had not to run into the bedroom and throw yourself on the bed like a teenager being humiliated by her crush, and by the time you got back there, closing the door behind you, the tears wouldn’t stop.

Your tea was cold by the time you’d packed your bag. You didn’t bother drinking it, slipping out of the room. Neither Winchester was in the kitchen anymore, and the library was empty, which was probably for the best. Part of you wanted them to see you, to stop you, to say it was okay, but the other part couldn’t deal with the hurt, or the fallout from your own deception.

In the end, they didn’t even notice. The door was easy to shut quietly, and you’d left your car outside when you’d gotten back from the recent hunt. For a second, you idled the engine in the driveway, keeping your eyes on the rearview mirror, unsure if you wanted Sam to come after you or not.

Moments ticked by, and you wiped furiously at your eyes, before pushing down on the gas pedal. 

It was better this way.

*****

_ Sam lifted you up into his arms, carrying you across the motel room. Both of you landed on the bed, laughing as you stripped the other. Clothes landed in a pile on the floor, and you cried out as Sam’s hands skilfully traversed your body, finding the spots that made you gasp for him - _

You woke with a start, instantly regretting opening your eyes. They were sore and swollen from crying, and your back was killing you from the uncomfortable night’s sleep on the backseat of the small car. Finding a motel hadn’t been an option - the British Men Of Letters would know you were alive, and you needed to stay under the radar.

It had been two weeks since you’d left, and neither Winchester had tried to contact you. There was a sort of finality to it, but that didn’t stop you from grieving over what you’d lost, what you’d built. For once in your life, you’d felt like you were doing something good, that you had someone to share that with, but now it was all gone.

Shifting into an upright position, you tried to remember where you were. You’d been checking out a ghoul report in Iowa, miles away from any sightings of the Men Of Letters, or indeed, the Winchesters. Unfortunately, your brain hadn’t got that memo, and had been replaying moments you and Sam had shared.

It left you bereft and wound tight. With a sigh, you sorted yourself out as best you could in the backseat of the car. You were dying for a shower, and a decent meal, but neither were available, so you had to do what you could. Ghouls were easy to track anyway, and you were hoping you’d have it sorted in a few hours.

Starting the car, you drove away from the secluded spot you’d parked in, heading into town. Spotting the YMCA, you sighed in relief - you knew you’d be able to get a shower in there, and maybe some food. The gnawing hunger in your belly wasn’t going away without sustenance, and the power bars weren’t doing the trick anymore.

The building was pretty deserted, but there was a kindly gentleman called Nick there, who helpfully showed you to the showers, and pointed out where the meals were served. You were just in time for breakfast, and a few other vagrants were showing up, making you feel like the world’s worst person.

“I won’t ask what happened, miss,” Nick said, gesturing to the bruise on your head, the one you’d gotten chasing a spirit through a house two days ago. It was healing, but was still very sore. “But if you need to talk to anyone -”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you replied, keeping your tone soft. “Just took a fall.” His eyes said that he didn’t believe that excuse, but he didn’t say any more, leaving you to shower and eat.

An hour later, and you emerged from the YMCA feeling much better. You got back into the car, trundling the battered old thing through the streets until you found the place you were looking for. It was easy enough to get intel from the gossips in town, an underappreciated source of information that men never seemed to grasp, but you knew the value of a local hairdressers. All you had to do was sit there with a magazine, then pretend you had a call and duck out when you heard what you wanted.

Mangled bodies in the South Main Cemetery. Ghouls, for definite. They’d snatched up three teenagers last week, and there’d been one further attack on a drunken businessman, who’d managed to escape with all but two of his fingers.

Night dragged around slowly, and you spent the time munching on a bag of chips you’d stolen from the local grocery store. When it was suitably dark enough, you drove over to the cemetery, loaded up your gun and machete and started the hunt.

Thirty minutes in, and you hadn’t found any sign of the ghouls. Irritation was beginning to grind on your nerves, and you took a seat on a headstone, wondering what to do. Normally, the ghouls would have appeared by now, but it looked like these ones weren’t playing by the rules. Maybe you needed to get into some of the mausoleums to check -

Something crunched behind you, and you span, holding your gun aloft. A figure emerged from the shadows, a smirk on his face, and you blinked as you recognised the well groomed man.

“Ketch -” you spat, keeping your gun up. Arthur Ketch held his hands up, tilting his head in greeting.

“Y/N. I see you haven’t changed.”

God, you hated this smug bastard. You’d hated him when you’d been working with him - he was so fucking full of himself, and brainwashed by the organisation. Everything he did made your skin crawl. “What do you want?”

“Well,” he started, dropping his hands to fold them together in front of himself. “It was brought to my attention that you were still alive and kicking, even when I thought I’d disposed of you.” Mick had talked. Or one of the Winchesters. You tried to ignore the hurt that flashed through you at the thought of Sam not caring if they killed you. “And Doctor Hess asked me to track you down. It was quite easy to lure you here.”

So there were no ghouls. Fuck. And if Doctor Hess knew you were alive… “To finish the job?” you asked, keeping your aim fixed on him. He chuckled, shrugging.

“She said we could make you an offer. Come back to the fold. Submit for retraining, and we’ll consider the matter closed. But…” he sucked in a breath. “If you don’t want to do that, I’m afraid the alternative is quite unpleasant.”

You didn’t want to go back, and you were well aware of what “retraining” meant. Shaking your head, you backed up a little, quickly contemplating what your options were. Ketch noticed this and held up one finger. “Before you make any hasty decisions - Doctor Hess has decided that the American hunters are not an asset. Coming back with me might be the only way to change her mind.”

“So she’s ordered them all killed?” you asked, smirking. “Good luck with that.”

“We have Mary Winchester,” he replied, his smirk mirroring yours. “The job will get done.”

_ Shit _ . They had Mary? Why hadn’t you known any of this? But then, you’d run without even thinking of the wider consequences. So much was up in the air. Sam was vulnerable, and you’d probably only made him more so. Guilt swamped you, and Ketch’s chuckle of amusement only inflamed your anger.

“Don’t be foolish, Y/N. Come with me.”

You shook your head. No matter what you did, going back was not an option. “I’m not going back, Ketch.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, giving you a sad smile that was entirely for show. “Goodbye, Y/N.” Your finger squeezed the trigger, but your shot went wide, and something struck you, just below your ribcage. You choked and dropped the gun, falling back onto the ground.

Ketch appeared over you a few seconds later, tilting his head to the side as he inspected your wound. “It takes a few moments to die from that. But you will die, Y/N. You should have taken my offer.” He moved out of sight, and you felt tears spring to your eyes. “And poor Sam… he was looking for you, you know. Desperate to know you were okay.”

No.

No, he was lying. 

“We blocked your mobile phone to his calls. He had no idea.” There was another amused chuckle, and you heard him picking up your bag of supplies. “All you had to do was call him. He missed you so much.”

Tears dripped down the side of your face, and you moved your hand, pulling your cell out from your pocket, turning it on. Ketch’s footsteps moved away as you located Sam’s number, feeling the strength going out of you.

_ You’ve reached Sam Winchester. Leave a message at the beep. _

You let out a choked sob as you put the phone on speaker, dropping it to the leaf-covered floor beside you, feeling blood soak through your shirt where Ketch’s weapon had struck you. It was most likely a neurotoxin, designed to cause a slow but definite death. He liked those sorts of things.

_ Beep _ .

“Sam…” you managed, closing your eyes as you dragged the memory of his face forward. “I’m so sorry… I just… needed you to know… it was never a lie… I love you… I always will…”

Your last breath was wheezing and wet, and you coughed, blood splattering the phone. Ketch watched from the headstone you’d been sitting on before he’d approached, clutching your bag, watching your body go still. Your eyes became unfocused, unseeing, and the phone beside you went dark. He stood, walking over to terminate the call, before tossing the phone into the darkness.

Inspecting you, he satisfied himself that you were dead, before turning and walking away. There was nothing in him except satisfaction for a job well done. Sam and Dean would find your body eventually, or the police would. Either way, you were dead.

*****

“Sam, your phone is bleeping,” Dean called, holding up the aforementioned object, and Sam snatched it, opening it. There was hope in his eyes that it was her, that she’d finally called, and he grinned as he saw her name flash up on the screen.

“It’s a voicemail. From Y/N.” He pressed the button, holding the phone to his ear, desperate to hear her voice. “She only left it a few minutes ago. Why didn’t you answer?” he asked Dean, who shrugged.

“ _ Sam… _ ” There was a pause, and Sam’s face twisted in confusion at the wrecked sound of her voice. “ _ I’m so sorry… I just… needed you to know… it was never a lie… I love you… I always will… _ ”

There was silence, and then nothing. The phone disconnected, and Sam panicked. “Dean, pull up the GPS. Track her phone.” His brother frowned, looking up at him from the laptop. “Why, what’s going on?”

“Just do it!”

The urgency in Sam’s tone made Dean shift into gear, and he quickly typed into the browser, pulling up the app they used, and locating Y/N’s phone. “She’s in Iowa. Couple of hours drive.” Sam was instantly moving. “Sam, what’s going on?”

“She’s hurt. She was… she was calling to say goodbye.” He rushed to grab his coat, and Dean followed.

The drive was made shorter by Dean’s hard foot on the gas, and by the time they reached the coordinates she was last at, the sun was peeking over the horizon. They found her car easily enough, and followed the trail through the cemetery.

Dean saw her first, and held Sam back. “Sammy…”

“What?” The taller man pushed his brother away, stomping through the stones and freezing when he saw what was in front of him. She was laying on the ground, blood coating her stomach, her eyes still open, but it was clear she’d been dead a few hours. His legs gave way, and he collapsed to the sodden floor, tears already falling from his eyes.

“No… no…”

“Sam…” Dean’s hand landed on his shoulder, but Sam shrugged him off, practically crawling towards her. “Sam, she’s gone.”

Sam shook his head, gathering her into his arms. “I’m so sorry, baby, I’m… please…” He kissed her cold forehead, willing life back into her but there was nothing. He knew it was impossible. Grief threatened to overtake him.

“She was shot with something,” Dean said, scouring the area, finding her phone a few feet away. “Someone did this to her.”

It was surprising how grief was easily taken over by anger. Sam lifted the body of his dead lover into his arms, and carried her away, Dean following silently.

That night, they burned her body, giving her a proper hunter’s funeral. Because she was a hunter, not a Man Of Letters. Sam had forgiven her - he just hadn’t had the chance to tell her. Now, all he had was revenge.


End file.
